Pain and Joy
by Grissom
Summary: --Story Complete-- A migraine leads to some personal revelations from two CSI's...


A/N: Thanks again to Grissomgal71 for her wonderful beta job!   
  
Grissom sighed and buried his face in his hands when a familiar dull throb began to form in his temples, forgetting to remove his glasses first. He was reminded of them when he heard a slight chink as something fell to the ground. He groaned, then turned to see them lying on the floor. He reached down to grab them, then began inspecting them just as Sara stepped up to his door, leaning against it like she had done so many times before.   
  
"Hey, Gris," she said cheerfully. "You finish that case from Tropicana yet?"  
  
He shook his head, slipping his glasses back on after he found no cracks. "No, not yet."  
  
Sara noticed the weariness in his voice and frowned. She glanced down the halls, then slipped into his office, settling into a chair across from him. "What's up, Gris?"  
  
He looked up at her briefly, then gave her a slight shake of the head as he began to shuffle his paperwork. "Nothing."  
  
"Something's wrong. Are you feeling all right?"  
  
"I'm fine, Sara."  
  
"Bullshit," Sara exclaimed, sitting back in the chair with her arms crossed. She stared Grissom down for a moment, then abruptly stood and went to the door.  
  
Grissom was sure she was leaving, until he heard his door shut and the sound of chair legs scraping the floor. Sara was pulling one of his extra chairs next to his, plopping down into it. She re-crossed her arms, fixing her gaze on Grissom again. "So…"  
  
He stared at her with wide eyes. "What are you doing, Sara?"  
  
"Trying to help you, Grissom. Something's bothering you. I know from experience that if you let it fester, it will just keep on bothering you. And it gets worse. I can see it in your eyes," she said, holding up her hand when he tried to speak. "As much as you try to hide your feelings, your eyes always give you away. At least, after I learned how to read you."  
  
Grissom opened his mouth again to speak, but sighed and pulled his glasses from his face instead. He knew that Sara was right; something was bothering him badly. And he also knew that stubborn Sara wouldn't give up until she knew what it was. He sighed again, sliding a file over the desk to rest in front of her. She looked down at it for a moment, then opened it when Grissom offered no further explanation.  
  
She skimmed over Grissom's handwritten notes from a crime scene.  
  
*Victim is approximately six years of age. Male. Initial examination of the body shows scars and bruises—abuse? The wounds seem to have been afflicted at various times in the victim's life. Long-term abuse. Initial opinion on cause of death: blunt force trauma to the back of the head, probably brain damage and hemorrhaging. Probably inflicted by family member or close relative. Murder seems very personal... No identification has been found.*  
  
She finished reading his notes and looked up at Grissom. He had turned his attention back to his paperwork, but she could tell it was with minimal interest. She studied his stiff form for a moment, then glanced back down at the paper.   
  
The cause of death according to Doc Robbins was, in fact, blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. It had fractured, sending tiny fragments into the child's brain. He didn't die immediately. Instead, he had been left in the alley to die, alone and in pain.  
  
Sara closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. She looked back up at Grissom, struggling to find the words. "This was your case on Tropicana?"  
  
He nodded slowly, reaching a hand out to her. She put the file into it, and he set it back down in front of him. "Yeah. A couple of prostitutes found the body while they were taking a short cut to the 'hot spots'. One said she accidentally kicked the foot, began wondering what it was, then actually saw the body. We already processed them. They were clean."  
  
"Has anyone reported their son missing that fits this description?"  
  
"No. And I honestly don't think they will. Did you see the pictures?" he asked, opening the folder and pulling out a stack of crime scene photos. He slid one over to Sara. "The state of the child's clothes, indicate that either his family was very, very poor, or they just didn't buy him good quality stuff."  
  
Sara glanced down at the picture reluctantly. A small, sandy-haired child was lying in a pool of blood, curled up into a fetal position. The boy's eyes were clenched tightly shut. She shook her head, then turned her attention to the child's clothes.   
  
Or rather, the child's rags. The pants and t-shirt worn had seen many better days. The shirt had holes ripped all in the fabric, and it was stained and faded so badly that she didn't think they would be able to tell what the original color had been. The jeans had large holes in the knees, and were being held up by clothespins.  
  
She looked up at Grissom, who was now sitting back in his chair with a hand on his temple. "I never understood," he began, his eyes still closed as he tried to will the migraine away, "how people could treat their children this way. Isn't your child supposed to be the greatest thing in your life? Aren't parents supposed to protect them?"  
  
"If only everyone saw things your way, Grissom. We'd be happily out of a job." She stared at him for a moment, noting his expression. Then she stood up, moving behind him to the small shelf. She picked the prescription bottle out of the jumble of jars and went back to her seat, twisting the bottle open and tipping out a tablet. "Here."  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, fixing them on the small pill in her hand. He glanced up at her face, then reached and took the tablet from her. Popping it into his mouth, he had swallowed it before Sara could even begin to offer him some water.   
  
He groaned softly and leaned his head back in the chair, one hand still rubbing his temple. "Thanks, Sara. Do me a favor? When you leave, shut off the light please."  
  
Sara nodded and went over to the switch, flicking it off, leaving only a faint light coming from the lamp on his desk. But she didn't leave. Instead, she made her way back over to her chair, impulsively straightening up Grissom's desk. Grissom heard the noise and opened his eyes.   
  
"Sara? What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm helping you, Grissom. Shift's up. How are you getting home?"  
  
He frowned. "I was going to stay here for a while. I've got to do some work on that case. Plus, I don't think I'm in a condition to drive right now." With that, he leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes again.  
  
Sara stared at him for a long moment. "Gris," she began softly, "staying here isn't going to help that migraine go away. If anything, it's going to make it worse. Especially since day shift is starting to pile in, and you know how Ecklie is." She smiled as Grissom huffed. "Yeah…you should probably go home and get some sleep."  
  
"I should really stay and find out who hurt that little boy."  
  
"Grissom…I know this case is important. But what good can you do it if you can't even think straight? If you don't go home and get away from it all, your head is going to explode!"  
  
Grissom smiled slightly. "Actually, crashing on the couch sounds great right about now. But I don't think I can drive," he repeated.  
  
"I'll drive you home," Sara said, standing up. "Come on. Grab your coat and I'll grab your briefcase. We need to get you home!" she said, sounding a little too cheerful for Grissom.  
  
"Sara…"  
  
"No 'buts', Gil Grissom. Let's go. I'm taking you home now." With that, she stepped over to the door, grabbed his battered briefcase from the floor, and pulled the door open, waiting for him.   
  
He allowed a small smile to cross his lips, then stood up shakily. He was beginning to feel nauseous and knew that he had waited too long to take his medication. And this migraine was going to be a fierce one. He pulled on his jacket slowly, then followed Sara out into the hall.  
  
He managed to make it halfway to the locker room before another wave of nausea hit. He leaned a hand against the wall, closing his eyes to help fight the sickness. It passed, but still left him feeling weak. For the moment, he was content with just staying still, then he felt someone grasp his free arm.  
  
It was Sara. "Come on, Gris. Just a little further," she said gently.  
  
"Well, isn't this cute," they heard a familiar voice croon. Sara turned to see Conrad Ecklie leaning against a doorjamb, studying the two graveyard CSI's with interest. "We've got the prodigal CSI Sidle aiding a fallen Gil Grissom. What's wrong, Gil? One of your little bug experiments go wrong?"   
  
"Piss off, Ecklie!" Sara shouted, fed up with Grissom's dayshift counterpart. Still grasping Grissom's left arm, she put her other hand on his back, guiding him through the halls. They finally stepped outside, and Sara continued to direct Grissom towards her SUV.  
  
With a little prompting from her, he climbed into the passenger's seat. He buckled up, then closed his eyes. Sara was about to get in when she heard someone call her name. She looked up to see Catherine headed towards her.  
  
"Hey, Cath," Sara said apprehensively.  
  
"Hey. What's wrong with Gil?" she asked, peering at Grissom.  
  
"Migraine."  
  
Catherine made a face. "Oh, ow. Did he have his medicine? If not, it'll last for a few days."  
  
"Yes, Catherine, he had his medicine. And yes, Catherine, I did make sure he took some. And I am taking him home now, okay?"   
  
Catherine held up her hands as if in surrender, a small smile on her face. "Okay, okay. I believe you." She looked past Sara at Grissom. "Take care now, Gil," she called, then nodded to Sara and made her way back to her own SUV.  
  
Sara watched her for a moment, then started her car. She had the radio on at first, but soon turned it off after Grissom's pain seemed to increase. They drove in silence until they reached Grissom's townhouse. Sara pulled up to the curb, parked the car, then got out.  
  
Grissom, having recovered a little bit, got out a moment later, slowly making his way up to his home. He did notice that Sara was following him, but didn't think telling her to go home would amount to anything. He made it up to his door and somehow managed to get it unlocked.  
  
He tossed his jacket on a chair, then went to his refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. He opened one and drank half of it at once. "Hey," he said, getting Sara's attention and gesturing towards the unopened bottle.  
  
She smiled and accepted his small gesture of thanks. She busied herself by looking around his living room as he disappeared in the back of the house, reappearing a moment later in a t-shirt and a loose pair of khakis. He glanced up at her as he sank down onto the couch. "Thank you, Sara. I really do appreciate it."  
  
That, she assumed, was supposed to be her signal to leave. He closed his eyes, then scooted over to lie down on the couch. She noticed that he'd gotten a bigger couch since the last time she'd been here--during the 'Strip Strangler' case--one he was actually able to stretch out on. He folded his arms up and placed them beneath his head, choosing to lie on his stomach.  
  
Sara studied him for a moment, seeing his brow wrinkled with pain. She felt sorry for him, having to suffer from such horrible headaches. She stared for a moment more, trying to decide something. Finally, she made her decision.  
  
She made her way over to the couch, sinking onto it in the space Grissom didn't take up. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she gently began to knead the muscles, feeling all of the knots and tension.  
  
Grissom had opened his eyes when Sara sat down. He lifted his head a bit, trying to turn and see her. "Sara?" he asked, though he knew it was her. His voice became a small moan as she worked out a rather large and painful knot.  
  
"Geez, Gris," she said as she continued to massage. "You should probably get this done more often. You've got knots worked up all over the place."  
  
He smiled despite himself. "I would have it done more often, but there's never anyone to do it."   
  
Sara returned the smile, which grew wider when Grissom made another appreciative noise as she worked out another knot. "Well…"  
  
He turned his head to peer at her suspiciously. "Well what?"  
  
"Nothing. That didn't have a thought attached to it."  
  
"Oh," he said, shrugging with his head slightly.  
  
Sara continued her ministrations, feeling Grissom relax. He sighed loudly and closed his eyes, seeming to forget that Sara was the one in his house. "Hey, Gris…" she said softly, wanting to ask him something that had been eating away at her for a while.  
  
"Uh huh…" he said, his voice muffled by the cushions of the couch.  
  
"That case you were working. The one with the little boy?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Sara paused for a moment, not sure of how Grissom would react. "That case seems to be getting to you, more so than most cases you work. Did something happen to you when you were a kid?"  
  
He turned over on the couch, lying on his side to peer at her with narrowed eyes. "What makes you think that?"  
  
She shrugged, sinking down further on the couch. "Just the way you were acting. It's the same way I-" she cut herself off before she could say more.  
  
Grissom's eyes narrowed even more, something she thought was near impossible. "Go on…The same way you what?"  
  
She sighed. "Grissom, every one of us faces a case that affects us. Whether it reminds us of something that happened to us, or happened to a friend, it affects us. We look at the victims, and the perpetrator, and we see ourselves. We can't stop it."  
  
She looked away, choosing to study his butterflies. She knew that by telling Grissom this, many of the pieces of her puzzle would fall together for him. She just wasn't sure what effect it would have on him. "When I was in college, I was rooming with my best friend. I mean, we'd known each other since first grade." She smiled at the memory. "We always thought we'd grow up, marry some handsome guy, and live right next door to each other forever."  
  
Grissom propped himself up on one elbow. "What happened?" he asked softly, not wanting to pressure her.  
  
"We went to a party with some guys one night. My date…tried to…take advantage of me, but I was able to get away. Amanda, however…" Sara stopped and sniffed, the old memories causing the tears to build.  
  
Grissom studied her for a moment, then nodded, the pieces falling into place. "She didn't make it, did she?" Sara could only shake her head, the tears now falling freely from her face. Grissom stared for just a moment before sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened at the first contact, but soon relaxed, letting herself cry onto his shoulder.  
  
After a moment she pulled back, only sniffing as she looked up at him. "Wow…Sorry about that, Gris. I didn't mean to get all…emotional on you." He offered no response at first, and she turned away from him, feeling very embarrassed and exposed.  
  
She felt him shift on the couch, and assumed that he was going to get up and get away from her. But instead, he sat up and placed his elbows on his legs, leaning forward. He didn't look at her, but began to speak.  
  
"I think it started when I was three. My father…was hardly around when I was young. He'd stop in for a few days at a time, then be off again. Most of the time it was as if he didn't even see me. I was invisible to him. Then he started coming home more often when I was five, staying for longer periods of time. At first, it was nice. I was finally just like all the other kids.  
  
"But then he started hitting my mother. He said she was ignoring him, but she really couldn't hear him. One day…" Grissom paused, running a hand over his face, "I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't watch again. The next time he hit my mother, I smacked him with a baseball bat. He grabbed me by my neck and threw me into the wall.  
  
"When I woke up a few days later, he was gone."  
  
For a long moment, Sara was at a loss for words. *Woke up a few days later…* "Grissom… I'm sorry. Is that why you got into forensics?" she asked, thinking that maybe Grissom decided that he wanted to be able to stop that kind of thing from happening again.  
  
"No. I'd always had an interest in forensics. I love…figuring out how things work, learning new things, and studying science. I was picking up dead animals on the beach to dissect when I was ten."  
  
"Well…is that why you try not to work cases dealing with kids?"  
  
Grissom nodded solemnly. "I know I preach to you guys all the time about being objective…but…I just find it so hard. People hurting kids…it just hits me in the heart."  
  
Sara nodded, thinking back to the few cases Grissom had worked involving a child. The one that seemed to upset him the most had been the dead baby, followed closely by the Collins case.  
  
He looked up at her, seeming to be trying to decide something. "Just like rape cases hit yours," he said cautiously.  
  
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Every young woman found dead after a beating or a rape becomes Amanda to me. I feel like…like I should have been able to save her. Like I should have been able to find justice for her. But I couldn't…they never did arrest the bastard."  
  
"There's nothing you could have done, Sara."  
  
She sniffed again, shaking her head. "I know that. I did everything I could. I pointed out the guy in a line-up, I testified in court…There just wasn't enough evidence to convict him. That and he and his buddies formulated an alibi…So he got off." She sighed, then looked up at Grissom. "What about your father? Did they ever do anything to him?"  
  
Grissom shook his head. "No. They never found him. He went back to the house, grabbed his stuff, then disappeared into South America. I never heard from him again." He lifted up a hand to point to a scar on his eyebrow. "But I'm still reminded of him every time I look in a mirror."   
  
Without thinking, Sara reached her hand out, gently running it across the scar, then down to the side of his face. His eyes darted up to hers, studying them intensely. She gave him a small smile, then kissed his cheek. "I'm very sorry, Grissom. I never knew that's why you felt so strongly on child abuse cases."  
  
He shook his head again. "Not your fault. I…I've never told anyone before."   
  
Sara's mouth almost fell open, but she was able to catch it in time. "No one? Not even Catherine?" She had been sure he would have told Catherine that kind of thing.  
  
"No…not even Catherine. I don't tell her everything, you know."  
  
"Obviously. I mean, she knows you the best, yet still barely knows anything about you!"  
  
"I don't like for my personal life to become a topic of conversation."  
  
"Well, you know what, Gris? Your apparent lack of a social life is becoming a topic of conversation. I mean, you're our friend, but we don't know anything about you, except for work."  
  
Grissom frowned. It seemed that by trying to give the others nothing to talk about, he had inadvertently given them something to talk about. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't," he said quietly, rubbing his face.  
  
Sara nodded, understanding what he meant. "Yeah…You should open up a little bit. You don't have to tell us everything, but tell us something. I wouldn't expect you to tell everyone about…what happened with your father, but even a little information would be enough."  
  
Grissom gave her a small smile as he looked up at her. "Like what?"  
  
"Well…tell us about the happier times in your childhood. If we're hanging out after shift and talking, you can relate to the conversation with a story, you know?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah…I get it."  
  
Sara smiled, then stood up. She gathered up her water bottle, then made her way to the door. She paused and turned back to him. "Get some rest, Grissom. You don't want that migraine to get worse. I'll see you at work?"  
  
He nodded in reply, and Sara opened the door.  
  
"Hey, Sara," he called as she was stepping out. She stopped mid-way through and turned to him. He smiled. "Thanks…And I'm sorry about what happened to your friend."  
  
"You're welcome, Gris. And as for Amanda… It still hurts sometimes, but it's part of what makes you who you are, I guess."  
  
She gave him one last smile, then stepped out, leaving him to his thoughts.  
  
******  
  
Exhibit A…no match. Exhibit B…not a match. Exhibit C…nothing.  
  
Sara growled as she put the tiny piece of hair back into the evidence bag. She'd gone through all of the hairs found at the scene of the crime, but none of them matched their suspect. All they needed for an arrest was something to place him at the scene. Sara had been hoping that they could match the suspect's hairs to the foreign hairs found on the victim, but they were neither the same color nor the correct width.  
  
"I must be overlooking something…" she said to herself, then began running a mental checklist. She'd dropped off the suspect's hair sample in DNA a few hours ago, and was still waiting to see if it matched any from the scene in that sense. But she knew that the man was still out on the streets, and had wanted to be able to snag him as quickly as she could. Every minute that man was out on the street, the more time he had to hurt another woman.  
  
"You feeling okay?" she heard a very familiar voice say. She turned on her stool to see Grissom leaning against the door jamb.  
  
She nodded, studying him for a moment. It had been a few weeks since their little 'encounter', and she had noticed changes in him since then. He seemed to be in better spirits, or at least trying to be, he ate lunch with the rest of the CSI's more often, and he joked more. Sara had been walking through the halls a few days earlier and heard him laugh at something Greg said. At first she had just frozen in the hall, soaking in the unfamiliar sound. Then Grissom had stepped out of the lab, giving her a smile before walking to his office.  
  
"I'm fine, Grissom," she finally said, after seeing the expression on his face change to true concern. "Just a little frustrated with a case, that's all."  
  
"Hmm…" he said, stepping further into the room. He pulled up a stool next to her and sat. "What do you have?"  
  
"It's the DB found in the Rampart; the woman found beaten to death. After examining the evidence and the comments made by her friends, we suspect the boyfriend. So we brought him in, but he didn't stay for very long. See, all we had were suspicions, no physical proof."  
  
Grissom glanced at the evidence bags sitting next to the microscope. "You were comparing his hair. You did drop it off with Greg, didn't you?"  
  
Sara sighed. "Yeah. I just wanted them to be able to grab him before he could get too far."  
  
"You didn't want him free on the streets…" Grissom said. She nodded, and he returned the gesture. "How long until Greg has the results?"  
  
"Any minute."  
  
"Speak of the devil," Grissom whispered, seeing the spiky-haired lab tech peering through the glass as he walked. He stepped into the room cautiously, holding his lab report up like a shield.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.  
  
"It's never stopped you before," Grissom commented.  
  
"Ha ha," Greg said dryly, handing Sara the paper. "The hair from your suspect is a positive match to the hair found on the victim."  
  
"Thanks, Greg," Sara said distractedly, peering at the paper. Greg bowed out, casting a glance in Grissom's direction. "How could I not see it?" she said to herself. She looked up at Grissom. "I just compared his hair under the 'scope. It didn't match."  
  
"Let me see." Sara sighed and switched stools with Grissom so he could study the hairs. He stared for a moment, then looked up at her. "The hair taken from your suspect has recently been dyed."  
  
Sara nodded. "How could I have missed that? And it's probably from a different part of the head…that's why the widths were different."  
  
Grissom nodded. "Sara, I think you've got enough for a warrant, and shift's up."  
  
She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was actually three hours after the end of shift. "Yeah…thanks, Gris. I think I'll go ahead and go home. I'm pretty sure Brass knows what to do."  
  
Grissom watched her as she gathered her stuff. "Hey, Sara," he said, just as she was about to leave. She turned to see a very apprehensive expression on his face. "I was wondering if you had any plans."  
  
She gave him a smile. "No. Why?"  
  
"Would you like to get some breakfast with me?"  
  
She studied him intensely. "What kind of breakfast is this going to be? Do you mean a friendly co-worker breakfast or a…slightly more personal breakfast?"  
  
"I was thinking slightly more personal breakfast." He gave her a small smile. "Think of it as a step down from dinner. A preliminary. I figured that if we can survive breakfast, maybe I could…ask you to dinner sometime."  
  
"Work your way up?"  
  
"Yeah. That way, if you also decide that I'm not worth the effort at breakfast, it's not such a big loss for you. Do you understand that?"  
  
"Yeah. I get it, Gris."  
  
"So…do you want to get some breakfast with me?"  
  
She gave him a big smile, one he called her 'Sara-smile'. "Sure!"  
  
He sighed in relief. If she only knew how much of himself he had put into that offer, as little as it seemed. "Great. Meet you out front in five minutes?"  
  
"Better make it ten. I have to give this report to Brass." She gave him one last smile before stepping out of the room, noticeably more spring in her step.   
  
He watched her until she disappeared around a corner, then gave himself a mental pat on the back. Maybe this whole 'chasing' thing wouldn't be so hard.  
  
END 


End file.
